


pocket full of sunshine

by FancifulRivers



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder, Poisoning, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 18:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12348291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: Demon kids don't get happy endings.





	1. Chapter 1

_i._

You don't mean to hurt anyone.

That's a lie. You mean to hurt her, you mean to make her stop hurting you, but you don't mean to  _kill_ her, and it takes too long for the roaring to subside in your ears, for you to realize that she's not yelling anymore, she's not making  _any_ sounds anymore, and there's-

There's a substantial pool of blood you're now kneeling in and it looks like red cranberry juice.

Nausea surges up your throat, sharp and sour, and you scramble to your feet, kitchen knife clattering to the floor, as you rush to the bathroom, your meager supper coming up just as fast as it had gone in. The blood smell has followed you, because it's tacky on your jeans and soaking your socks, and you throw up again, over and over until all that comes up is thin, yellow bile and ropes of saliva. You scrunch your nose.  _Gross_.

You don't know what to do. What can you do? Your mother was right all along, you  _are_ a monster, and you  _killed_ her. You don't think anyone could be alive after that. She looks like a bag of broken things, like the toys you once stole off a moving truck and hid under your bed. There's too much red on the floor.

"Why couldn't you stop?" You whisper. It hurts to talk, like it always does, but you relish the pain this time. You deserve this pain. It's what you get for murdering your own mother. Monster child,  _demon_ child, and you flinch beneath the onslaught of your own mind.

A car backfires outside and breaks your paralysis. If you don't want to end up in prison (and you don't think good things happen to fucked up little kids in prison, fucked up demon kids who commit matricide and have red eyes and get into too many fights at school), you need to leave.

You scramble through the house, stuffing whatever you think you might need into your school backpack. You feel guilty grabbing her wallet for a second, then shove the guilt away. What does it matter if you steal her wallet, you already killed her. Is theft that big a deal anymore? 

You don't know what to do with the knife but you finally decide to take it with you. You aren't sure why. It isn't like the police won't know who did it. You're the only one who lives with her. It feels strangely right to feel the handle against your palm, though. Like it marks you for who you are.  _What_ you are.

At first you don't know where you're going, but your feet speak for you, and you can only laugh when you realize.

Mt. Ebott. No one who climbs Mt. Ebott ever comes back.

_That's_ exactly  _what I want,_ you think, and walk a little bit faster.

_ii._

You know you have a death wish, but free-falling down a hole you stupidly tripped into is the worst way to die you've ever heard of. It's so far down, you can't hear anything hit the bottom (you wonder morbidly if you'll hear yourself go splat. Will you become nothing but a broken bag of bones and organs and blood spilling out, too? Is this your punishment for what you've done?).

When you land, it hurts so much, you black out from the pain. You wish you'd black out again the instant you wake up. Everything hurts. More than when you broke your leg falling out of a tree. More than anything your mom ever dished out on you. You're ashamed to realize you're calling out for help. Like there's anything down here but cave fungus. What could live inside a mountain?

But it hurts so much and you can't stop crying, and at first, you think that you're seeing things. You have to be, because there's someone there. Someone came. They look like a goat standing on their hind legs and they're wearing a striped sweater.

"I'm delirious," you croak, and attempt to pinch yourself. It hurts (more than you're willing to admit), but the goat hallucination doesn't go away. In fact, they come closer.

"Are you okay?" They ask, and there's a bit of a bleat in their voice, and that's what makes you start laughing. Once you start, you can't stop, and you're alarmed at how hysterical you sound, braying laughter to the tiny circle of night sky way above you, while a fluffy goat in a sweater looks at you with alarm.

"I'm getting mom," they tell you, and trot off. You try to tell them to come back, alarmed at finding yourself alone, but it's too late. Your laughter cuts off, as clean as a swipe of a knife. You slump back into half-consciousness, and barely notice when the kid comes back, trailed by a much,  _much_ larger goat, dressed in something soft and purple.

"Oh, you poor child," you hear in soft tones, and you want to cry again. You've already deceived them. You aren't a 'poor child' at all. You're a  _demon_ and you deserve to be left down here until you rot. You try to say that, but then a paw gently prods you and pain flashes, bright and hot, and you black out again completely.

_iii._

They're monsters.  _Real_ monsters, not like you and not like the storybooks you sometimes sneaked out of the library when no one was looking. They're Boss Monsters, the youngest (whose name is Asriel) tells you proudly, his chest puffed up like he can look intimidating in green and yellow stripes and only tiny nubs where his horns should be. His mother, the one he fetched for you, is Toriel, and his father is named Asgore. They're the King and Queen, and Asriel is their little prince.

You've fallen into a fairy tale, and the thought terrifies you. Because if they're the royal family, what does that make you?

You know what happens to the bad guys in fairy tales.

"How are you feeling, my child?" Toriel asks you, a week after she rescued you, taking you into her home and healing you of your injuries. Like you deserved healing.

"Fine," you say, staring resolutely at the bedspread. You still aren't allowed out of bed for more than a little at a time. You want to complain but after you overdid it the other day and nearly passed out (Toriel had to carry you back to the bedroom you now share with Asriel), you know better.

"If you like," she offers. "I can teach you how to knit."

You look up, ready to refuse, and then see how hopeful she looks. And her eyes. Her eyes are red like yours and even though you know that's normal for her (and not at  _all_ normal for you), your mouth still creaks open and tells her "yes."

She helps you into the living room and gets you situated on the sofa, a basket of yarn next to you. The knitting needles she hands you are a little big, but you don't mind. They feel nothing at all like the kitchen knife, and the thought comforts you in a way you can't really explain.

At first your fingers feel stiff and clumsy. You want to throw the needles on the floor and storm away, but Toriel just gently repositions your fingers or shows you how to do it again. Your throat hurts when she does, awash with emotions you don't understand, and you wonder if this is what it's  _really_ like when you have a mother.

_You don't get another mother,_ your mind helpfully reminds you.  _You killed yours. You're a demon child. Don't you dare destroy this family, too._

You push the emotions away and focus on the next stitch. Even if she is being nice to you, it doesn't matter. It doesn't mean anything. 

You wish the stinging in your eyes would agree with you.

_iv._

"Chara?"

Asriel's voice is soft, tentative. You look up from your coloring to see him shifting foot to foot, the way he does when he's really nervous.

"What?" You ask. "Do you want the red crayon again because I swear I'm almost done-"

"No, that's not it," he says. "Um- what are humans like?" You freeze for a minute. Your heartbeat thuds in your ears.

"Bad," you finally say, voice flat. "They're all bad."

"Not you-" he starts to say, but you interrupt him.

"Especially me."

"Chara, that's-" Now his eyes are wet again, because he really is the biggest crybaby, but you know he means well, and you just sigh, handing him the red crayon as a mute peace offering.

"What are you drawing anyway?" You ask a few minutes later, after he's hopefully forgotten the subject. He beams at you and turns his paper around.

"The God of Hyperdeath and his trusty human sidekick!" He announces proudly. You want to say something sarcastic, because that really is a ridiculous name, but you can't, because even rendered in crayon and Asriel's shaky paw-strokes, you can tell the human is meant to be you.

"What do you think?" He asks anxiously, a few moments later. You clear your throat, trying to get rid of the clogged feeling.

"Could be worse," you say, and his face falls. "I'm kidding, Ree, it looks good," you say, rolling your eyes as his face lights up again.

"They're gonna go on adventures," he announces. "Save the world adventures."

"Cool," you say, looking down at your own drawing and hoping he doesn't see it, because you're drawing the two of you, too. "Uh- can I have the red crayon again?"

"Charaaa," he whines, but he hands it back willingly enough.

_v._

You are so, so  _stupid_.

You tried. You really did! You wanted so,  _so_ badly to be good. You still had nightmares (how could you not, when you remember kneeling in your mother's blood after the worst fight you ever had with her), you still hurt yourself. You still snapped at Asriel and went cold at Toriel and Asgore, but you  _tried_. 

You fucked it all up.

Asgore's sick and it's all your fault. You didn't know buttercups are poisonous. You just wanted- it was supposed to be a  _joke_ , that's all, just a silly, stupid, little joke that you and Ree could play on him, and he'd scrunch up his face because the pie tasted weird and then you'd laugh and tell him what you did, and he'd laugh and swing you up in his arms like he did sometimes if you were okay with it.

But that's not what happened.

Instead, he's sick and you  _poisoned_ him, and he's going to get better, Toriel promises you and Asriel over and over because Asriel can't stop crying (you don't cry though, you never cry, demon kids like you  _don't fucking cry_ ) that Asgore is going to be just fine, that you didn't do anything wrong (but you did, you always do, she doesn't know what you're capable of).

You know what you need to do.

It only takes one human soul and one boss monster soul to get through the barrier. All you have to do is convince Asriel that your plan is for the best, that it will be okay, and you can make up for it. You can make up for  _everything_. You know exactly how you want to do it, too.

"Buttercups," you tell Ree in a hoarse whisper. His eyes widen and he pulls back, looking alarmed.

"But-" he starts to say, but you shake your head.

"If they're that bad for monsters, they've got to be even worse for humans, right?" You say. "It probably won't take too long. And then you can have my soul and we'll- we'll be together forever. We can save everyone, Ree."

"But Chara, I don't want you to  _die_ ," Asriel says, snout trembling, eyes watering.

"It's okay," you say, trying to be gentle for once. "I won't  _really_ die, I'll be with you. That's all I want, Ree. I just want to make everything better."

It takes more- you aren't surprised at how long it takes to convince him that your plan is a good one, that it will work. You also don't think he really understands human death, or he'd say no anyway. It doesn't matter. You're determined to do this. You have to make up for what you've done to the one family you thought could maybe be yours, too. You can never make up for what you did to your real mother (she hurt you so much, but she was still your  _mother_ , why don't you  _care_ more), but you can make up for this.

Asriel brings you the buttercups and a glass of water. The petals burn your hands as you gather them up, piling them into a soft yellow drift on one palm.

"This will fix everything," you say, more to reassure yourself than Asriel, and shove the buttercups in your mouth in one go.


	2. Chapter 2

_vi._

Has anything ever been that easy for you, though?

You don't die. You shovel handful after handful of buttercups down your throat, but your body refuses to just lie down and die. It hurts- you try to hide how bad, but you know you're doing a piss poor job of it. You have blisters on your hands and on your tongue and down your throat and if you swallow too roughly, sometimes one pops and you can taste blood. It reminds you of the night you killed your mother, of the feel of her blood soaking the knees of your jeans, and then you throw up blood, too.

"Chara, let's not do this anymore, let's stop," Asriel begs you, but you refuse. You've already been through this much, you're not that much of a coward that you can't finish it. The pain in your stomach feels like someone's stabbing you over and over, and you wonder again if this is punishment for what you've done. If it is, you deserve it. You know that much.

"More," you wheeze, and Asriel looks like he wants to tell you no, but he hurries out of the room anyway, and Asgore stoops in instead, bringing you a glass of water and a fresh blanket. 

"We'll fix this," he promises you, brushing sweat-sticky strands of hair back from your forehead, and you don't know how to tell him that there is no fixing this. You're doing it all to yourself, but it's okay, because you'll make everything better. Your death will set them free, you know it will. It has to.

Some of Toriel's medicines help you, relieve the worst of the cramps and make some of the blisters recede, but you just chew up more buttercup petals when they do, relishing the pain of the shredded flowers slipping down your throat. Mom's medications can't fight against your own self-destruction, and you get sicker. You still don't die.

When you start peeing blood, you wonder for the first time if Asriel is right. If maybe you  _should_ tell the Dreemurrs what's really going on, what you've done. If maybe you should stop it before it goes too far.

But- no. It's humiliating and it's painful, but you're doing the right thing. You  _know_ you are. It's just taking a little longer than you thought it would, and that's what you tell Asriel, too. You wonder if you're trying to convince him or yourself.

"It's probably better this way anyway," you rasp out, trying not to cough. "Looks like a real illness. Not-"  _Not like my own suicide,_ you almost say, but stop at the last minute. You don't think Ree needs to hear that.

You know you don't.

_vii._

"I can't do this anymore, Chara," Asriel tells you, after a particularly long bout of coughing. You look up at him, blood speckling your lips, confused.

"What?" You wheeze. He's damp-furred and determined-looking, and anger starts to bloom in you like red fruit.

"I'm telling," he says, and your hand shoots out, fingers grabbing his arm like they have a hope of stopping him. You're too weak, though, and they slide off his fur like you didn't even try.

"You  _promised_ ," you hiss at him, but he backs up.

"I know I did," he tells you. "But this isn't- I can't-" His eyes are red-rimmed. "I can't bear seeing you like this, Chara, you're so  _sick_ , and I  _know_ that you said we'll be together, but- it wouldn't be the same, you wouldn't still be you, like  _this_ , and-"

"You promised," you repeat, hand sagging to the bed. "I thought-"

You cough again, and you can feel more blisters rip open, liquid pockets of agony that spill down your throat and burn your stomach.

"I love you, Chara," Asriel says, almost gently. "Please understand, I- That's why I have to do this."

"Don't you want to save everyone?" You demand, trying to pull out all the stops. "Don't you want everyone to be happy?"

"How can everyone be happy if you're  _dead_?" He shoots back and you freeze. You don't know what to say to that. It's not like you don't  _know_ the effect your illness is having on the Dreemurrs. On- well, everyone. You know that it's not...well, not good, but- That's what your death is supposed to be  _for_ , isn't it? You'll  _fix_ it all, and then they'll be happy again, far happier than they ever could have been with your worthless soul hanging around. It's not like you're a real monster after all, you're just a stupid little human, and a shitty one at that. 

...Right?

"I'm telling," Asriel says again and before you can stop him, before you can say anything at all, he turns the doorknob and slips out of the bedroom.

_viii._

They're so angry.

More than that- they're  _disappointed_ , and the disappointment hurts far more than anger ever could. You're used to people being angry at you. Your teachers always used to be infuriated with the way you fought with the other kids, and your mother just hated you. No one's ever been disappointed in you before, and it stings.

"I wish that you had told me," Toriel tells you. "Chara, we never,  _ever_ want you to die just so- Nothing, not even leaving the underground, is worth you dying. We love you so much." You wish that you could believe her. Her voice breaks and you can feel her tears soaking your hair, but you pretend you don't feel them.

Now that they know what's wrong, she can heal you. It won't be fully, but you never expected that to begin with. Not after you've been chewing buttercups like they were going out of style. You're glad, anyway. You deserve your sins marked on your body.

You don't know how you feel about Asriel. Your feelings are confusing. You love him- he's your  _brother_ \- but he  _told_ \- he  _broke his promise_ \- but you were dying in front of him, a slow, painful death by inches, while he hand-fed you poison-

He spends a lot of time in the bedroom with you but he leaves you alone, for the most part, and you quietly appreciate that. You don't trust yourself not to say something that you'll regret.

It's when he's out of the room that your thoughts turn to the knife.

Some of your belongings survived the fall, and the knife was one of them (although you never let the Dreemurrs see). You keep everything wrapped in the tattered remnants of your old school backpack, and that's tucked under your bed. 

It doesn't take very long to retrieve it and pull the knife out.

There's no blood on it. You kind of thought there might be, even though you wiped it as clean as you could get it and rinsed it off in the sink before taking it with you. You can see your reflection in the blade, although it's warped and jittery. It takes you a minute to realize you're shaking.

This isn't the knife you used to use on your legs or your upper arms. It's too big to comfortably hold to your arm without worrying you're going to cut more than you intended, although it's fine for your legs. You don't care this time though. It's kind of fitting, in a morbid way, to hurt yourself with the same knife that you used to kill your own mother.

You don't want to die. Well- you  _do_ , but you don't intend to die this time. Just...take some of the edge off. You drag it along your shin once, twice- Fat bubbles of red bead up and you peer at them, fascinated. Your blood's the same color as your mother's. It's weird, huh? Demon blood is the same color as human blood...

You do it again and again and again, more than you mean to, because the sting makes you feel better, and the blood makes you feel better, too, and you don't realize you've been caught until the door slams open on its hinges and Toriel's there, larger than life, and Asriel peeking in behind her, his eyes huge with fear.

"Oh," you say weakly, and the knife clatters to the floor.

_ix._

You don't know how to explain it. You try, but it just comes out clumsy, your words tripping over themselves. How  _do_ you explain wanting to hurt yourself, but not wanting to die? How do you explain that seeing your own blood drip into your sock makes you feel better, makes you feel more alive?

How do you explain why?

You're in the living room because your sheets are bloody, and you think you prefer this, because everyone can fit in the living room. You don't want to explain anything more than once.

"Once upon a time," you say, in a very brittle voice. Asriel looks confused. Mom looks like she wants to hug you already. "There was a little kid named Chara. And this little kid didn't have the greatest home life. In fact, uh, you could say it was pretty shitty. Now, they kinda deserved it because well-" Your shoulder tips up in a shrug. "This kid was a demon. At least, that's what their mom always said, and she'd know, right?" You laugh, but there's no humor in it.

"And one day, Chara and their mom had a pretty bad fight. They always had fights, you see, because Chara liked to talk back and was a pretty shitty kid, and their mom liked yelling and well- hitting them, but it was okay," You start rocking back and forth, almost unconsciously. "It was okay because Chara was a demon kid and that's what you do with demon kids, you gotta put them in their place, but this time, it was really bad, and she wouldn't stop, and Chara got their hands on a knife and they didn't mean to but uh-"

Toriel's eyes widen in understanding, but you can't stop now, it comes pouring out, like blood from a wound or juice into a cup.

"They hurt her, they hurt her a lot, they just wanted her to stop, but-" Your vision's blurry and it takes you a second to realize you're crying. "They killed her, they killed their own mom and they didn't mean to, they just wanted it all to stop, but she wouldn't stop, and- and- then they ran away, they climbed Mt. Ebott because no one comes b-back from Mt. Ebott and they didn't want to either and  _I'm so sorry_ -"

You find yourself enveloped in a three-way hug, your face buried in the soft fabric of Toriel's dress.

"I am so, so sorry, my child," she murmurs, and her voice is so gentle, so  _loving_ , it makes you cry even harder.

"I'm a m-m-murderer," you stammer. "You-you should kill me y-yourself."

"Never," she says, and Asgore echoes her. Asriel just hugs you tighter, almost to the point of pain, although you'll never tell him that.

"You're not a demon," Asriel bleats, nearly in your ear. "And you didn't deserve to be hit."

"I did," you say, almost automatically. 

"You did not," Asgore re-affirms. "Asriel is right. You are not a demon."

"You are a human and you are my child nonetheless," Toriel tells you, carefully wiping away your tears with a handkerchief. "You were forced to act in self defense. It is not your fault."

You can't say anything else, so you just hold onto whatever you can reach even tighter. You think they understand.

_x._

"Mom will get angry if you sneak a slice of pie before dinner again," Asriel warns. You pout at him, questing fingers undeterred as you slowly pull the pie plate towards you.

"She should have known better than to make butterscotch cinnamon then," you smirk. Just as you're about to pull free a decent-sized wedge, Toriel bustles into the kitchen and you jerk back, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Ree was trying to have pie," you tattle, a blatant lie, but Asriel shoots you a betrayed look anyway.

"I was  _not_ , Mom, it was Chara-" He starts saying, but Mom just laughs.

"I know it was, Asriel," she says, tousling his fur. You scowl as she takes the pie plate and moves it to the top of the refrigerator. You can still reach it if you try, but that means dragging a chair over there and there's no way she won't notice that.

"Dinner will be done soon, why don't you go color?" Mom suggests. 

"I want to go in the garden," you say. She pauses.

"Take Asriel with you," she finally says. "And stay with Asgore."

"Okay," you agree. Asriel helps you outside- it hurts to move, but it hurts to sit down for too long, too, so you're glad to at least have achieved a change of scenery. Dad's still working in the garden and he comes over as soon as he sees the two of you.

"I just wanted to see the flowers," you tell him and he beams, taking your hand with one massive paw and showing you and Asriel around his work, pointing out this flower and that. He studiously avoids the buttercups, and you're grateful. You don't ever want to see them again in your life.

"What are these?" You ask, pointing to delicate blue flowers that remind you a little of stars.

"Forget-me-nots," he tells you, smiling. "Pretty, aren't they?" You nod.

"Dinner's ready!" You hear Mom call. 

"Can you make it back?" Dad asks you. You consider it for a moment, wanting to say yes, before giving in and reluctantly shaking your head no. "Piggyback?"

"Yes, please," you say at once. He kneels down and Asriel helps you climb up on his shoulders, your hands holding on tight to his horns.

"Race you back," you yell down to Asriel. "On your mark, set, go!" You thunder towards home, laughter pealing behind you.


End file.
